The Outback Stars (12 page)

The hatch opened. Lieutenant Commander Rokutan, the division officer for Flight Support, came in with three gibs in hand. Tall and freckled, with brown hair and a handsome face, he was strangely familiar to Jodenny. After a moment, she remembered seeing his pictures hanging in the sports gallery back at the academy. He was a College Cup Champion soccer player, twice over.

“Sorry I'm late.” As Rokutan sat down, one of his gibs fell to the deck. He nearly slammed his head on the table as he bent to pick it up. Jodenny fetched it for him and passed it over. He smiled crookedly, and she felt herself warm a little.

Al-Banna ignored Rokutan. “Margaret, what's going on in your department?”

Vu reported on the state of the galley, upcoming special meals, the service division's profit for the month, and a rash of petty thefts from the ship's laundry. When his turn came, Rokutan said that the Flight Department was still doing training operations. Wildstein reminded everyone that AT evals were due on Friday.

Al-Banna grimaced. “Let's not be too generous about how great they are. Who got stuck with Greiger's job on the Cultural Diversity Committee?”

“I did, sir,” Jodenny said.

“Be sure you attend all the meetings. Smile and make sure you say the right things.”

She couldn't help herself. “Don't you approve of the cultural diversity, sir?”

He gave her a dour look. “I think we have too much cultural diversity, Lieutenant. What Team Space needs is more unity and less celebration of every single difference between us.”

“A nice enemy to fight would be helpful, too,” Zarkesh added. “A hundred years in space and still not a single alien to shoot at.”

Al-Banna harrumphed. “What about the Hail and Farewell?”

Vu said, “I'm helping getting it organized. Jodenny and six others are getting hailed, and five are getting farewelled. The captain wants it on the Flight Deck.”

“How special.” Wildstein gave Jodenny a pointed glance.

Rokutan spoke up. “I've got a question. What are we doing about getting people qualified? All of my assistants are pulling watches, but I never see Hultz, Sanchez, or Ysten on the schedule.”

“We need a training officer,” Vu said. “Every department's supposed to have someone who reports to Commander Calinder.”

Silence for a moment. Jodenny kept her head down. She'd risked enough with the cultural diversity question. The last thing she needed was to be put in charge of shepherding whiny ensigns through their qualifications.

“I'll do it,” Wildstein said, with a martyr's sigh.

“No, Lieutenant Scott will do it,” Al-Banna said. “Meeting's over. Go get some work done.”

Jodenny considered a protest—Training Officer would be her eighth or ninth collateral duty—but Al-Banna was already leaving with Wildstein on his heels. The rest of them stood and gathered their gibs. Zarkesh asked, “Where did you come up with that bit about the data closet?”

“I worked in Maintenance for a year,” she replied. “It took us weeks to figure out the wardroom problem.”

“If that's it, I'll buy you dinner.”

Vu squeezed Jodenny's arm. “Not before I take her to lunch. Women in this department have to stick together.”

Rokutan introduced himself with a warm, firm handshake. “Congratulations. I did Underway Stores on my last ship. Come over to Flight sometime, and I'll show you around.”

Jodenny felt suddenly shy. “I will.”

Back in Underway Stores, Nitta and Caldicot were slogging through the AT evals. Jodenny scanned their preliminary list and asked, “Where's Ishikawa's?”

“She's only been onboard for three months,” Caldicot said.

“We still have to grade her,” Jodenny said.

“No, ma'am,” Nitta said. “There was an all-fleet message that changed the eval requirements. You must have missed it.”

Jodenny shut her mouth. The
Yangtze
tragedy hadn't stopped the flow of rules, regulations, and assorted electronic paperwork in Team Space—it had merely caused it to hiccup for a few minutes. “Send me a copy of the message for my records,” she said. “Good work on getting these evals done. Mrs. Mullaly?”

“Yes, Lieutenant?” The American aide appeared at the hatch wearing a bright blue sweater. Her wardrobe, Jodenny had decided, consisted entirely of slacks and blue sweaters.

“I picked up another collateral duty. Can you set up a folder for Training Officer and pull the watch qualifications on all the officers and chiefs in the Supply Department?”

Mrs. Mullaly looked blank for a moment. “You mean like Fire Watch, Security Watch, those things?”

“Yes, but those are junior watches,” Jodenny said. “Chiefs and officers pull different ones—Assistant Officer of the Watch, Officer of the Watch, Assistant Command Duty Officer, or Command Duty Officer. We usually stand them on the bridge, but sometimes in Drive or Flight.”

“I don't understand why everyone has so many extra duties,” Mrs. Mullaly said.

Nitta said, “Too much work and not enough people.”

Fifteen minutes later VanAmsal and Strayborn showed up for the meeting Jodenny had told Caldicot to arrange. VanAmsal reminded Jodenny of Dyanne in some ways—same height, same neatly coiled braids—but unlike Dyanne, humorless and stern.

“Is this going to take long, Lieutenant?” VanAmsal jerked her head to the window that overlooked LD-G. “I hate to leave them on their own for too long.”

“It takes as long as it takes,” Jodenny said.

Nitta asked, “Should we meet in your office or mine?”

“Mine, just as soon as Sergeant Myell arrives.”

Nitta blinked. “Why Myell?”

“He's a sergeant in this division, isn't he?” Jodenny turned to Caldicot. “Didn't you notify him?”

Caldicot shot Nitta a quick glance. “I didn't know you meant Myell, too.”

“He's not in charge of anything,” VanAmsal said.

Strayborn said, “I'll ping him, Lieutenant.”

Ten minutes later Myell showed up, obviously bewildered at being included. When the five of them sat in Jodenny's office, Strayborn sat beside Myell but VanAmsal turned so that she couldn't see him. Nitta didn't look at any of them as Jodenny ran through the list of concerns she'd prepared: the late COSALs, the requisition backlog, the outdated MSSL, RIP drops, poor FIFO methods, inaccurate Q-Cost logs.

“I realize the division is undermanned,” she said. “After the Alcheringa drop, we're going to have to look at some organizational changes. Maybe I can get us more people, or we can move shift positions around.”

Strayborn leaned forward. “It's not how many people we have, it's how good they are. Some aren't pulling their weight. Kevwitch is in the brig more often than he's out of it. Lund spends all of his time in Sick Berth. Dyatt's good but she can't work on the dock—”

“She does fine in the command module,” VanAmsal said.

“Soon you're going to lose her to maternity leave,” Strayborn continued, undeterred. “Gallivan's leaving without a replacement. We're supposed to have twenty-five people, we're at twenty-two right now, and that'll leave us with twenty. Nineteen if I get picked up for ECP—”

“
If
you get it,” VanAmsal said.

Staffing was always a problem, and Jodenny had expected it to top their list of complaints. She watched as VanAmsal and Strayborn bickered back and forth. Nitta wore a distracted expression, as if he was trying to remember something he'd forgotten to do. Myell intently studied his gib.

“I'll talk to Commander Al-Banna about getting more people,” Jodenny said. “In the meantime, we deal with what we've got.”

VanAmsal said, “Caldicot could be reassigned. You don't need two administrative assistants, do you, Lieutenant?”

She heard the challenge in VanAmsal's tone. “I don't know. It's a possibility. Maybe AM Dyatt could come up here to work, or you could take over T6 if Sergeant Strayborn gets promoted.”

Myell blinked. VanAmsal's face tightened and she said, “I like where I work.”

“Everyone should start thinking about possible changes,” Jodenny said. “Now, what else is a problem besides staffing?”

VanAmsal complained about erroneous requisitions and difficulties getting Core to reboot malfunctioning DNGOs. Strayborn added the problem of too many ship's departments demanding priority placement on their orders. Nitta bitched about last-minute paperwork that Data kept dumping into the queues, which VanAmsal agreed was a problem. Strayborn opined that too many low-bid contractors were delivering shoddy goods that wore out faster than usual and required unexpected replacements.

“What about you, Sergeant Myell?” Jodenny asked. “Do you agree with all that?”

Myell folded the cover on his gib and fixed his gaze on a spot behind Jodenny's head. “Departments keep requesting priority routing because our backlog is so bad they think routine ones will get overlooked. We can't stop some admiral's aide somewhere from putting out a data call—all we can do is answer as quickly and accurately as possible. Contractors are something else we have no control over. And Core's so overburdened that it's no wonder it takes an hour to reboot one dingo.”

The temperature in the room dropped several degrees, but Jodenny kept her eyes on Myell. “So what do you recommend?”

He shrugged, as if it wasn't really his problem after all.

Jodenny tried to hide her disappointment. “Let's focus on what we can control and fix it. Make sure your people are in the correct uniform of the day. Counsel them if they're late, rude to customers, or slacking off. Make sure they're studying for their exams or working toward qualifications. Don't bitch in front of them, don't let them bitch in front of you, and make sure they know you care about them, this division, and this ship. What we say in here stays in here; you're the leaders of Underway Stores, and you need to be one hundred and ten percent professional.”

The dirty look VanAmsal shot Myell as they stood to go was anything but professional and Strayborn was noticeably silent. Jodenny didn't worry too much about their hurt feelings but did say, “Sergeant Myell. Hold on a minute.”

When they were alone she said, “I expect you to set a good example. Your tardiness to quarters this morning shouldn't be repeated.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Did you oversleep?”

“No,” he said. “It won't happen again.”

Jodenny waited for him to say more, but it was clear he wasn't going to elaborate. “Very well. Carry on.”

Holland spoke up, reminding her that she still had to work on her check-in list. Jodenny went up to Safety, where a department rep signed off her gib with the instruction to read all the procedures in Core and contact her with any questions. The Morale Department was closed for a luncheon. Jodenny took the opportunity to grab a bite to eat at a snack bar. From there she went to Security, where sad-faced Sergeant Polson stared at her MacBride Cross and advised her about staying out of restricted areas such as Operations and Tower 14.

“What's in T14?” Jodenny asked.

“It's a penal colony. Four hundred convicts on their way to Warramala.”

He was still staring at her MacBride Cross.

“Is something wrong, Sergeant?”

“No, ma'am. My sister—well, she died.”

In the explosion. Or maybe later, from burns or injuries. Jodenny said, “I'm sorry.”

“Maybe you knew her? Pamela Polson. She worked in Drive.”

Jodenny hadn't known her. She fled Polson's grief and was standing at the lift when another Security sergeant approached her. “Lieutenant? I'm Sergeant Rosegarten. I wanted to explain about this morning.”

“What about this morning?” Jodenny asked.

Rosegarten grimaced. “I told Lieutenant Commander Senga that there was nothing more to the case. Things disappear on this ship all the time. But he has this thing, ever since Fortune. He wanted to ask the questions himself. So it was our fault Myell was late.”

It took Jodenny a moment to figure out exactly what Rosegarten meant, and another few minutes to get the whole story. She almost stormed over to Senga's office to confront him, but decided to let her temper cool first. Besides which, she couldn't figure out who she was more angry with—Senga for pulling such a stunt, or Myell for not telling her. Muttering, Jodenny went down to the E-Deck gym, which was equipped with a swimming pool, sauna, steam rooms, cardiovascular and weight equipment, and three studios for yoga, aerobics, and martial arts.

The energetic civilian at the front desk said, “Most of the officers prefer to use the officers' gym, ma'am. It's about half the size, and there's no pool. But then you don't have to mingle with anybody but other officers.”

“I'll be fine down here,” Jodenny said.

She had saved the worst for last. The instant she stepped inside Sick Berth, the faint smell of antiseptic swept her back to unhappy memories of Alice Naval Hospital. A medical tech with cold hands took her vital statistics and escorted her to a cubicle to wait for Lieutenant Moody, the physician on duty. Jodenny couldn't sit still on the exam table, so instead she studied the wallgib that listed the department ping numbers. Sick Berth serviced Team Space military personnel. Civvie employees, passengers, and family members used the hospital over in T1. She was amusing herself by memorizing names when a lieutenant with gray hair entered.

“I'm Mitchell Moody. Nice to meet you.”

“New to the service?” Jodenny asked. Team Space often recruited civvie doctors to fill the ranks of its medical corps.

He chuckled. “You can tell in two seconds?”

“Your insignia is upside down.”

Moody patted the item. “One day I'll get this all right. How's your leg doing?”

“Only hurts when I laugh.”